“And this little piggy went wee wee wee all the way home,” I giggled, finishing up my little nursery rhyme, now that we were back at his place.
It all started when I made him stop at 7 Eleven – the market – for Cheetos. But all they had were the off-brand cheese curls, and being a brand whore when it came to my snacks, I went for chips instead.
Because once you pop, you just can’t stop.
But I made him stay in the car, so that little piggy more or less stayed home.
A trip to Arby’s ensured that little piggy had roast beef. And he was none too happy when I tossed the sandwich out the window on the highway, so that little piggy had none.
Harry kindly played the part of all five piggies.
And now it was my turn to be the piggy because I made him stop at every other fast food joint along the way.
Wendy’s. Taco Bell. KFC.
It all sounded so good that I couldn’t choose between them. And Harry was enough of a good guy that he didn’t make me choose.
And he was hot enough that I would gladly blow him later for his kindness.
He disappeared into his bedroom to change out of his omnomnomiform and I might have followed him in there to get started on paying him back, if he hadn’t turned on the TV before he’d left the room.
And since I thought it only fair to let the actual piggy choose his lunch from the stash of bags now spread out on his coffee table, I ate another brownie to tide me over.
It was Friday.
After work too, since I wasn’t going back.
And shoving it into my mouth, I knew they were still really good.
I was in the midst of eating my second one, when I heard the sound of Harry’s voice saying, “Ah ah ah…no more brownies for you.”
So I growled back at him, sounding like Godzilla making landfall in downtown Tokyo.
They were that good.
I wouldn’t be going down without a fight.
Or going down on him if he fought me for them.
Eying me up, like he knew I wouldn’t be turning my mouth into a ring to make his family jewels pop, he dug into one of the bags and said, “How about I trade you for them…”
Nothing could be better than Aunt Lin’s brownies.
He handed me the cardboard container with one hand, while taking the mostly eaten brownie from my grasp with the other, and disappeared into another room, taking the whole box with him.
And at the moment, I was perfectly fine with that.
I had french fries.
They were so good.
“Trade you again,” he smiled, when he returned to the room and tugged on my shirt.
But since our first trade turned out to be so awesome, I quickly pulled it over my head and waited.
Maybe he’d give me a shirt made out of funnel cake.
I got my hopes up, thinking it was a really good possibility, since his eyes were moving all across my body, like you would swirl the batter into the frying pan.
Then I could just turn my head and nibble from my shoulder whenever I was hungry.
But I lost track of my brilliant idea when I got lost in the t-shirt he shoved over my head, as he snarled out, “No. More. Brownies.”
I’d forgotten about those!
And then I forgot about them all over again when he pulled me down onto the floor beside him and surrounded us in a deep fried heaven.
We were both still sitting on the floor, in front of the TV and watching cartoons, now leaning against his couch to keep us upright and surrounded by a paper wrapper wasteland.
“Why can’t we have more brownies?” I eventually asked, eying the direction he’d taken the box to, but straining to see over the hump of my food baby.
I wasn’t really hungry anymore, but I remembered they tasted really good.
“Because,” he chuckled. “Today isn’t 4/20 either.”
“Is it May the fourth be with you?” I snickered. “Or maybe it’s the revenge of the fifth?”
He just shook his head with a little laugh and picked up the remote to change the channel.
Bad ass mother fucker Yoda was!
I was completely mesmerized for a while, until the sound of Harry’s voice broke through my mental lightsaber battle.
“Why does all of your ID still have your Seattle address?” he asked, now snooping through my wallet.
But I didn’t mind.
It was okay because he was my Food-Baby-Daddy.
And since we were having a food baby together, I also didn’t mind telling him, “Because unlike my last relationship, my license hasn’t expired yet.”
Off with Bill’s dick!
“That bad?” he chuckled. “What did he do?”
“Nothing,” I shrugged and inadvertently tipped over the nearly empty can of Pringles that was sitting on the floor in between us. “That was the problem. I got nothing out of being with him.”
Bill was from another era.
One filled with floppy discs.
“Nothing?” he questioned.
So I turned to face him and took the Pringle chip that was lying forgotten on his shirt, popping it into my mouth because the jingle said I had to, and gave him a salty grin, as I replied, “Nope. Nothing.”
And then it fell right back out of my mouth when I laughed and added, “And I broke up with him by giving him nothing in return. After we had sex for the last time, he had the nerve to complain that he’d thought I was going to make him something to eat, when in reality I was getting up to get dressed and leave. For good. So before I left, I made him a parting gift of an imaginary sandwich and handed it to him, telling him when I didn’t have to fake it anymore, then neither would he.”
Talk about salty!
Him and his floppy dick were pissed.
Harry doubled over and laughed, before sitting up again and taking my dropped potato chip for himself.
And seeing his lips close over it, I could think of better things he could close them over.
I’d gladly trade him his chip for my clit.
So when I remembered it was Dick Day and I was supposed to be invading Northmanistan, I went after it.
With my tongue.
Climbing onto his lap, more than just our food babies were coming in between us, and my salty fingers wound their way into his hair. For a moment I forgot I was supposed to be capturing the chip, so he could then capture my clit, when he fought back by slapping his tongue against my own.
It wasn’t the spanking I’d been looking to get earlier, but it was a good start.
Eggs were leaping from my ovaries, like tiny little paratroopers, prepared to take on his Axis powered swimmers.
Instead of Stormtroopers, I had Sementroopers.
And if they failed, that was why God gave us Luke Skywalker and Plan B.
As if my brother had the powers of force vision, Darth Jason’s ringtone forced its way into my ears and without thinking, I grabbed my phone from my pocket and answered, “Plan B!”
I was sure Harry wouldn’t mind taking a trip to the drug store for some, if he didn’t have any condoms handy.
“Sook?” he asked. “Where are you? I swung by your office and Amelia said you went home early sick, but I’m outside your door and no one’s answerin’.”
“I’m not sick,” I laughed. “It’s D-Day!”
Harry just smiled back at me, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger. And then all I could think about was what else of his could be twirling on and in me. I had a feeling it would be great, like a carnival ride I would want to go on again and again.
God knows I wanted to ride on him all the way to the Hilt-A-Whirl.
“Sook!” Darth Vaginator snapped.
And I didn’t particularly care for his tone, especially after I’d been a good sister in trying to get him laid. So I let him know it by snapping my teeth at the receiver, like I was an angry alligator.
Or Ms. Pac-Man!
Wakka! Wakka! Wakka!
Chomp! Chomp! Chomp!
“Still hungry?” Harry whisper snickered.
I still had a whole battalion of hungry Sementroopers to feed.
“Who the hell was that?” Darth Cockblock growled and then yelled, “Where are you?”
“Quit worryin’, Darth Dick-Us-Interrupt-Us!” I giggled. “I’m with my food baby daddy, Harry.”
“Harry?” he snarled. “Who the fuck is that? Put him on the phone right now!”
My eyes got lost for a moment in the back of my head, but when they followed the Pringle crumbs back to Harry’s place, I handed him my phone and snorted, “My salty brother wants to talk to you.”
Christ, I could spend all day every day with her and I doubted it would be enough.
But knowing who was on the phone, I took it from her with a smile and a wink, saying into the receiver, “The Brazilian your sister got looks great.”
“Eric?” he growled, sounding very much like his sister when I’d called an end to her trip on the shuttle Space Cake. “You mother fucker.”
“She’s next,” I laughed.
But he didn’t have to know that.
However I’d learned the night before that Sookie had obviously inherited her mother’s drunken hands.
Something else he may or may not know, but it was something else I also had firsthand knowledge of.
“Asshole,” he snarled, but I knew him well enough to hear the smile he was fighting to contain. “What’s wrong with Sook? The chick she works with told me she went home early ‘cause she’s sick.”
I was still a little lost on that front, even though I’d heard the conversation between them. So I just repeated what she’d said and explained, “I’m not sure what she meant, but she told her friend to tell their boss something about sneezing and the rocket’s red glare in her underwear? But you don’t have to worry about her. She’s fine.”
Lucky thought so too.
“Uh huh,” he grumbled, not sounding very convinced. “So then what was all of that about baby daddies and dick-us-interrupt-us?”
While I enjoyed antagonizing Jason almost as much as I enjoyed having his sister in my lap, those two things couldn’t coexist when that asshole knew where I lived.
That dick would interrupt us if he thought my dick was about to erupt in his sister.
So I tried to play it cool and said, “She said food baby daddy. I think we ate our weight in burgers, tacos, and chicken. Those brownies gave her the munchies. So rather than leave her to her own devices, I thought it best to try and put her into a food coma so she can sleep it off.”
And if she woke up sober, but just as willing climb my every mountain, I was going to go Pompeii on her ass.
Just call me Mount Vesuvius.
“Your excuse reminds me of Gran’s nightgown,” he huffed. “Covers everything.”
As it should.
In both cases.
But his little hamster wheels were still turning because he said, “She called you Harry.”
And I wasn’t about to tell him why, so I smiled and deflected with, “More proof that I’ve been nothing but a gentleman. You’ve seen me in the locker room.”
I was meticulous about my manscaping.
“Shit,” he snarled and I could hear the police radio squawking in the background, just before he said, “I gotta go.” And then sounding much more serious – deadly serious – he added, “You’re gonna see to it that my baby sister makes it home okay, right?”
“Of course,” I replied, sounding just as virtuous as the Pope himself.
She’d make it home by Monday morning, at the latest.
That was when we both had to be back to work.
I ended the call before he could nail me down with specifics – that would surely include my promise to not nail his sister – and handed the phone back to Sookie, who seemed content just to be perched on my lap.
That made two of us.
Three, if you counted Lucky.
She’d been staring at me, while I’d been on the phone with her brother, so I’d expected her to ask if I’d already known him.
But who knew, if she was still taking her space cake walk.
So I wasn’t all that surprised when she eventually said, “You don’t look like a Harry.”
And if all went well, she’d get to see that applied to all of me.
But all I did was smile and say, “I don’t know if I can say the same about you. Sookie isn’t a name I’ve come across before you.”
But if all went well, I’d get to cum across her.
Her eyes had been starting to droop, telling me a nap was in our immediate future, but they lit up at my words and she giggled, “Because my mom was high when she got her fake ID made in high school. It was supposed to be Cookie.”
Was the fake ID so that she could be a stripper?
With that family, it wouldn’t have surprised me.
And neither did the origin of her name, when I smiled and asked, “Your parents named you after your mom’s fake ID?”
“Yup,” she nodded, popping the ‘P’, and then pulled the neck of my t-shirt down so she could peek inside as she asked, “So were you named after your dad’s hairy chest?”
“Nope,” I grinned, popping the ‘P’, and then let her in on a little secret that wouldn’t be so little if – and when – her brother showed up. “I was named after my mother’s first love.”
“Your mother’s first love was a hairy chest?” she asked, confused.
“No,” I chuckled. “My mother’s first love was Erik Estrada, from the TV show CHiPs. But my parents spelled it with a ‘C’ instead of a ‘K’, so my father could pretend she wouldn’t leave him in a New York minute if Erik Estrada showed up on their doorstep.”
And to this day, my mother thought my choice of profession was hilarious, given who she’d named me after. But I was just grateful they hadn’t named me Frank.
And my father just hoped I wouldn’t get put on the motorcycle detail because she would never let him live it down.
“I don’t understand,” she said, looking back at me. “They named you Harry because of Erik Estrada’s poofy hair?”
“No, Sookie,” I smiled, and smoothed some of her own poofy hair back down. “They named me Eric.”
I waited, wondering if the magic brownie haze would lift enough for the light bulb to come on.
And it would seem so, when her eyes grew wide and she leaned back, asking, “Your name is Eric?” At my nod, she started to flail around enough that she nearly fell off of my lap, so I laughed and caught her, just as she finished the rest of her thought with, “Eric, as in my brother’s best friend, Eric?”
“Guilty,” I smiled a little guiltily.
Her head immediately hung down, as the whispered, “Fuck. Me…” fell from her lips.
But my responding joke wasn’t really a joke when I teasingly replied, “I would have by now, if you weren’t in a continual state of under the influence every time I see you.”
“He’s gonna kill me,” she breathed out, still staring at our conjoined laps.
“No, he won’t,” I tried to assure her and then pulled her chin up, so she could see me smile as I truthfully said, “He’ll kill me.”
She seemed to need a moment to take in what could very well be my dying declaration, before she finally smiled and yawned out her response of, “Nah, I’ll protect you.”
Her yawn was contagious and big enough to make her eyes water, so I pulled us both up onto the couch and snuggled in behind her, saying, “I think it’s time for a nap.”
“Hoping I’ll wake up, no longer under the influence?” she snickered, settling her head into the crook of my shoulder.
“That,” I nodded and kissed the back of her head, adding, “And hoping I’ll wake up under you, influencing more than just my mind to be up.”
Because it wouldn’t take much more than that.